Promise
by Unexplainable Contradiction
Summary: Every year during their childhood, one of the Seven meets a boy, Alaster. He's different, alone, and no one is ever the same when he leaves. Of course, he can't just leave without a little (or not so little) promise. These are their stories of Alaster visiting, changing, and leaving them./Companion fic to Gut Instincts.
1. Safety

**This will be updated every other day. (Amazing, isn't it?)**

**The companion fic is up! And, guys, even though this seems like this is related to my other stories, it isn't; I just cannot imagine a little Percy so sweet, especially if he has to do something like this, and the name Alaster... I just really like it. So I made him like the other Percy from my other stories; it fits. Go with it. **

**I DO NOT OWN.**

Safety

Annabeth had absolutely, positively _no_ idea where she was—like, she didn't even know what _state _she was in. Seriously, she had left "home" only four days ago, and already she was lost. But she was surviving on her disappearing food supplies and the hammer she borrowed to thwack monsters on the head with. It was all good. Sort of.

She shook her head and kept moving forward; no reason to stop, because if she did that, then she would think of them, and she would want to return… But no, she couldn't. They did not even tolerate her, so even if she did return, she would still end up leaving again.

_Keep moving forward, _she ordered herself, but she was so lost in thought, Annabeth didn't realize that she had _kept moving forward_ into the middle of a rode.

Where a car was speeding toward her.

She turned when she finally heard the noise of the rumbling vehicle, but she was frozen to the spot; besides, it would have been too late—it was mere feet before her.

All Annabeth could manage were her last thoughts—_Wow, of all things, I'll be killed by a car. Not a monster, a car. _

She squeezed her eyes shut, the exhausts filling her nose, and then something slammed into her side. She went tumbling down a small ditch that was on the other side of the rode, bouncing on top of broken tree branches and small jagged rocks.

_Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow_…

She did one final roll, plopping into a stream. After trying to breathe in water, she shot straight up, coughing and hacking it all out. Slowed by the weight of the water, she slugged out of the stream and started heading upward, to the top of the little ditch she had just oh-so-gracefully been shoved down.

Of course, she was stopped, but at least it wasn't by a monster. Well, she hoped it wasn't a monster.

Oh, and by "it" she meant a young boy her age, wearing ripped jeans, a baggy black T-shirt, a chain looped though his beltline, a gray beanie, and large sunglasses—_who was laughing at her_.

Annabeth basically lost it right there. "What are you laughing at?" she demanded, fists clenched at her side.

He smirked. "You're welcome." He climbed on a stump of a tree and did a mock bow.

"For what?" Her voice was hard and an octave higher than usual.

"For saving your life, of course. That car would've run you over, and all that'd be left is a girl pancake." His lips quirked up again, just begging to turn into another smirk.

She calmed down slightly after he said that, because she knew he was right; it didn't mean she had to thank him though. "Well, I have to go."

He hopped down from his tree stump. "Go where?"

Annabeth glared at him. "Anywhere," she replied, her voice hard.

He spread his arms. "Well, anywhere is here. Anywhere is where I'm headin'. Anywhere is everywhere, so that's not a very plausible answer, truthfully."

She stopped her trek. "And where are you going?" she questioned, because it just hit her that there were no adults around.

A ghost of a smile passed his lips. "Away." She saw him blink through his sunglasses, and he stood up straighter than before. "Besides, even if you do leave, you won't last very long."

"Away? Yes, that is very specific. And what do you mean by, 'I won't last very long'? I have enough supplies to last me a whole week."

"No, you don't." As if to prove his point, her bag started falling apart, her limited food supplies—that wouldn't really last her a week—becoming useless as they hit the ground, mixing with the dirt. Her hammer fell, too, but she didn't mind that all too much; she just lost her food, and she had been hungry for days before she even left.

She nearly sobbed at the sight. What was she supposed to do now?

The boy cautiously walked up to her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "C'mon. I know what I'm doin'. You can stay with me."

She shrugged off his hand and sniffled. "How can I trust you? I don't even know your name."

He stuck out his hand. "You can call me Alaster."

**…..**

Annabeth followed Alaster through the edge of the wood, their cover before they raided the store. She had been "staying" with him for about two weeks, and it had been… easy. Alaster made the whole living-on-your-own thing _easy_. There was food and water and shelter, and sometimes even something extra that was unneeded, like an ice cream cone or roller blades. And the best part—no monster attacks.

See, Alaster didn't really "stay;" he moved every day and covered more ground than thought possible. In the two weeks that Annabeth had been with him, she had gone all over Virginia. And she meant _all over_.

He pointed at the Wal-Mart. "What do ya wanna get?" he asked, because he was awesome like that and actually wanted to know, unlike some other people.

She pondered for a while, then answered: "Strawberries, and ice cream, and—"

He cut her off. "—ham or salami or peperoni. You cannot just eat sweets all the time. We're gettin' something healthy."

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Alaster was only seven.

She sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll just wait here and distract them if something goes wrong?"

He nodded. "And I'll go get the food." Then he left, walking into the store and slipping out ten minutes later, holding an apple in his mouth.

He sprinted to her, shoving a pack of strawberries and Neapolitan ice cream in her arms. "Lez go," he ordered.

**…..**

Annabeth was stuffing the chocolate ice cream in her mouth, trying to eat it all before the fire melted it. Her eyes flicked to Alaster, who was sitting on the opposite side of the fire he made, knees pulled up to his chest, arms clasped tightly around them, completely still minus the erratic tapping of his fingers.

She stood up and shuffled over to him, plopping back down when she was close enough. "What's up?" she asked, licking the last remainders of ice cream from her spoon.

He turned his face to the sky—not _looked_; he was blind. "The sky is up, Annabeth."

She bumped his shoulder playfully. "You know what I mean."

Alaster grimaced. "Something's 'bout to happen. My gut instincts are screaming for me to leave this area, like, _right now_."

To most people, that would sound ridiculous, and they would laugh at the pure ridiculousness of the idea that someone would follow their gut instinct like that. To Annabeth, it would sound ridiculous if it was anybody else. But it wasn't anybody else; it was _Alaster_.

She sighed and crushed her empty ice cream container. "Okay, but later. I want to get a good night's sleep."

He squirmed, as if he didn't want to wait any longer, but gave in. He pulled out a sleeping bag for each of them, and she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the ground.

Oh, how _stupid_ she was. They should have left.

**…..**

Annabeth was awakened by Alaster shoving her out of her sleeping bag and placing some food and a hammer in her hands. He was telling her something, but it was difficult to hear anything over the wailing of—of _sirens_. Finally, she heard what he was saying, but she didn't like it, not one bit. "Leave. Leave, right now. Don't look back. Just _leave_!" He was screaming to be heard over the deafening sirens, but the message got through.

Leave.

Of all the things that could have happened, she never _ever_ thought it was that she had to _leave_. Leaving Alaster was worse than leaving her family. He took care of her and didn't laugh at her irrational fear of spiders; actually, he helped her fear not be so extreme. He showed her the world. He made her happy.

With him, there was a type of freedom that most seven year olds did not experience.

Because Alaster understood; he was seven, too.

But now, he was telling—_ordering_—her to leave. _Leave_.

"No!" she cried, throwing the hammer to the ground. "What's going on? Let me help!" She was desperate for anything that would allow her to stay with Alaster.

Alaster, faster than her eyes could process, handed Annabeth back her hammer and was shoving her out of their clearing. "No. Go. Leave. It's dangerous."

She twirled out of his grip and turned to him. She stomped her foot defiantly. "I am staying."

His faced hardened. "No, you are leaving." He shoved her into the forest, and she landed behind a bush. "I—I promise we'll meet again."

A gun shot rang through the air.

That was the final decision maker.

Annabeth left, only turning once to see if Alaster was following her.

He wasn't.

**…..**

It had been a week since Annabeth had left Alaster, and her heart still stung. It didn't help that ever since she had left him, monsters were always on her tail, so she couldn't find the time to sleep or gather food.

Now she was running through an alley, a hellhound nipping at her heels—almost quite literally. She swung her hammer at its head and landed a pounding right on its eye. It howled and leapt back, allowing Annabeth to get a head start on running again, but she was exhausted. She wouldn't be able to outrun this thing for much longer.

She turned a sharp corner and found an old, gray metal trash can that had cobwebs flowing off of it. More were stacked behind it. An idea began to form into her mind—a stupid, simple, but possibly life-saving idea—and, panting and heaving, she ran around the first trash can and lifted off the lid, pushing the actual can down the alley.

It rolled into the hellhound, not causing any harm, but thoroughly confusing it. Annabeth used this distraction to bash the thing in the nose with the lid as hard as she could. She stepped back after doing this as few times and threw it at the hellhound's thick throat.

This, because of her horrible luck, only angered the monster.

It roared and lunged for _her_ throat, its large yellow canines revealed from behind its big black upper lip. She lunged to her right to dodge the gaping mouth, rolling into a standing position. Holding out her hammer, she kicked another trash can at it.

Then a sheet of metal suddenly went flying through the air, crashing into the hellhound's throat, crushing its trachea. It staggered and then dissolved into a pile of yellow sand that blew away in the nonexistent wind.

Just like that and it was dead.

Annabeth would have celebrated, but she knew that there were more monsters, no doubt.

And that she didn't kill it.

Someone else did.

The dusty silver garbage cans rattled. She pushed the thought aside and ran for her life down the alley, waving her hammer around wildly when she heard voices. That was when she met Luke and Thalia, who took her in, kept her safe, sort of like Alaster. But not quite.

She followed them, Luke and Thalia, out of the alley, only turning twice: once to see if Alaster was behind her like she always did, and once because she swore she saw the flash of light off of a special metal chain.

Annabeth was still holding Alaster to his promise.

**And the first chapter is up! Did ya enjoy? What happened will be explained later; you just have to look for it. But if you want an explanation, just ask. **

**Anyway… ****_review_****, favorite, follow! **

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~Unexplainable Contradiction**


	2. Start Slow

**Thanks for the love, guys and gals! Here's Leo! **

**I DO NOT OWN. **

Start Slow

Leo felt empty inside as he watched the workshop billow smoke into the air. But even as people swarmed him, trying to put one of those weird oxygen masks on his face, he couldn't look away. He just couldn't.

Leo had to see if his mom would walk out. If he would see her again.

But she wasn't walking out of the debris. She wasn't showing up. And he had this feeling deep in his heart that she wasn't ever going to show up.

His mom was gone. For good.

Tears sprang to his eyes; then they began rushing down his face in thick, salty streams. He tried to fight off the big men holding him up to the entrance of the ambulance, but he couldn't escape their grasps; they were too big.

Like that stupid fire.

"Come 'ere, kid." A man plopped him into the ambulance. He eyed Leo over, checking for injuries and such. Humming under his breath, the man mumbled to himself, "Nothing's wrong."

Leo heard though, and he wished he could switch places with his mom, where there was everything wrong with him and nothing wrong with her. He tried again to run to the smoking ruins of the workshop, but the man just pushed him farther back into ambulance.

"Stay," the man ordered, holding a hand to Leo's chest. He looked around as hurried footsteps came closer.

"Is there room for one more?" a woman panted as she ran up to the ambulance, another man holding a limp body running up behind her.

The man who was holding Leo back nodded, eyeing the limp form of a body.

Suddenly, the body groaned. "Dude, put me down. I wanna sleep."

"No," the woman chided. "We need to make sure there isn't too much smoke in your lungs and that you aren't burned badly."

"I'm fine." The body—a young boy, Leo realized—sat up. He spread his arms wide. "See?" He gave an award-winning smile, his dark sunglasses glinting from the lights atop the ambulance. Leo thought he looked like a small movie star.

"No, we need to do a thorough check." The woman took Movie Star Boy and plopped him next to Leo.

Movie Star Boy's smile disappeared, leaving a scowl in its place. "No, you need to go away," he growled.

Leo would've listened and left. He was that frightened of Movie Star Boy.

The woman furrowed her brows. "I don't think so." Then she walked into the back of the ambulance with them, slamming the doors behind her.

The vehicle rumbled to life beneath Leo, and they were off.

Leaving for the hospital.

Leo never even got the chance to say goodbye to his mother.

Before her ghost flew off to heaven.

**...**

Leo shifted in the soft bed, the white sheets clumping together by his thighs. For some weird reason, denial had left him already, and now all he felt was emptiness. Maybe the fact that another little boy, not much older than him, could have also been killed—by him—had knocked his senses right and told him that Esperanza was dead.

Maybe that was it. But Leo really wanted the denial to last, just for a bit longer, so he could pretend she was alive. The cold grief that sunk into his soul and gripped his heart with freezing fingers made him feel like curling up and dying himself. He didn't want that; he didn't like that.

Leo was a naturally happy person, but anyone who caught a glimpse at him now would disagree. All they would see was a killer. A sad, sad killer.

Sobs began racking his body again, and the sadness set in, even deeper than before. His mother was dead; he had killed her. And now Leo would never get to see her again, never get to tell her how much he loved her. That hurt Leo the most—the fact that he could never tell his mom how much he loved her—and a whole other wave of pain and grief washed over him, pounding him to the point of physical pain.

The sobs took control of his body, shaking him all over. He sat like that, curled into a ball, crying his eyes out, for a long time. He didn't mind, though; he wanted time alone. After a while, when the tears started slowing down because he was out of tears, and the hiccups began coming, Leo looked up to see Movie Star Boy sitting on the foot of his bed. "Whoa!" he yelped, flying back to his pillows.

Movie Star Boy chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Glad you finally stopped cryin'," Movie Star Boy said, patting Leo's leg.

Leo gulped. This boy in front of him had nearly been killed by Leo, and yet he seemed perfectly fine. Not bothered at all that he could've died. "Hi—hi," he stuttered, waving at the boy wearing sunglasses in front of him.

"Hi to you, too." Movie Star Boy gave his crookedly movie star like smile.

"You don't hate me?" Leo blurted. Stupid ADHD.

"No, of course not. Why would you think that?" Movie Star Boy lowered his sunglasses just a bit, to where Leo could see his long black eyelashes.

"Well, I almost killed you and—"

Movie Star Boy waved his hand. "Almost doesn't count except in horseshoes and hand grenades, kid."

"But isn't that a bad way to meet someone—?"

"Ya know, let's just start over." Movie Star Boy stuck his right hand out. "My name's Alaster. What's yours?"

Leo blinked, automatically reaching out for Alaster's hand. "Leo."

"Why, hello, Leo. It's nice to meet you." Alaster threw his hands in the air. "See? That wasn't so bad. Introductions are all through, and now I can say I met a new person in Texas." He paused. "This is Texas, right?"

Leo nodded mutely.

Sighing, Alaster bonked him on the side of the head. "Don't nod to the blind person, Leo." He gripped both of Leo's shoulders in unnaturally strong grips and shook Leo back and forth. "Do you understand me?" he yelled jokingly, a grin plastered on his face.

Leo giggled. "Yes! Yes! I get it! I get it!"

"Good. Now, tell me why you were cryin' before. You were so loud I was surprised when the nurses didn't come in askin' what the heck the matter was." Leo saw Alaster shiver ever so slightly at the word nurses.

Leo gulped, biting his bottom lip. Suddenly, the words came out, however much he didn't want to say anything. "I killed my mom," he choked out, tears glossing over his eyes once more. "She's dead—because of me." His voice cracked as Leo held back the water surging behind his eyes for a while longer; then he released everything with a strangled sob, and the tears flooded out. "I killed my mom," he kept on repeating.

"Hey. Hey, Leo." There was creaking as Alaster moved over by him. "Leo. Leo, calm down." Alaster's voice was quiet and soothing, and he was rubbing small circles on Leo's back.

It didn't work. "How can I calm down?" Leo shrieked. "My mom is dead! I killed her!"

Alaster snapped, "You didn't kill her, so stop blaming yourself."

"I did," Leo insisted. "I killed her, because I didn't listen to her and—" He wavered. Was he about to tell Alaster probably the biggest secret of his life?

"And what?" Alaster asked quietly, reverting back to the soft tone he was using before.

"Can you keep a secret?" Leo asked tentatively.

Alaster tapped his right ear. "I'm a listener, kid. I can keep any secret for life."

Leo wondered about the 'kid' part for a minute, since Alaster couldn't be more than a year older than himself, but ignored it. "I have this ability," he started, holding his hand in front of the other boy's face. "My mom told me to wait until my dad could teach me about it, but I didn't listen." He opened his hand to spread out his fingers. "When a strange dirt lady came in the shop, I used this ability."

A tingling sensation traveled through his fingers, and then the smallest of flames appeared on the tips of each finger. "I created fire."

The flames danced in the reflection on Alaster's pitch black sunglasses. The blind boy took one hand and felt the small flames with a finger. Flinching back as the heat burned his flesh, he stated, "Definitely fire."

Leo nodded, extinguishing the fires that bobbed in his hand. "Yeah, and I hate it."

Alaster looked shocked. "Hate? Why do you hate it?"

"I hate that I can make fire because it killed my mom," Leo said bluntly as he flopped back on his fluffy pillows.

Alaster propped his sunglasses up higher and pulled his gray beanie down lower. "Leo, do you love your mother?"

Leo was shocked. "Of course," he replied automatically.

"And she knows, even now, that you love her?" Alaster questioned seriously.

"Of course." Leo had no idea where this was heading, but he almost wanted it to stop.

Almost.

He had the feeling that what was happening might help him through a small part of this—whatever this was.

"So why, Leo, are you acting like now, for some unbelievable reason, your mother hates you for an accident that a crazy dirt lady tricked you into doing? I have a feeling that she knows what happened by now, and I think she feels more sorry for you, because you're a sad, lonely little boy with a long, tough future."

It was so blunt. So... obvious.

But it still hurt. Leo Valdez was a sad, lonely little boy with a long, tough future. That's what he is; that's what he was going to be. It hurt so much, just to think about it. And his mother had to know that, since she knew so much. She had to know that he was sad and lonely.

Alaster interrupted Leo's thoughts. "But, you know what? I have this really good feeling that you're gonna be important. You're gonna do something important. Something great. You're gonna be a part of something bigger than us. Than all of us in this little hospital together."

"You're just saying that," Leo mumbled bitterly.

"No, I'm not," Alaster said flatly. He fingered his dark sunglasses, pulling them down to show his eyebrows. "I think...," He grabbed Leo's hands, pointing the fingers up, "... that your little fire trick will help you, too. It's a gift, Leo, you just have to figure out how to use it."

"Yeah? Well, what if I don't wanna learn how to use my 'gift'? What if I just want to forget about it all?" Leo shot back.

Alaster smiled a soft smile, but there was a second layer of knowing behind it. "You're going to have to use your gift eventually, Leo. I say you learn the basics first, then begin to practice more advanced tricks. Just... start slow."

"Start... slow...?" Leo tested the words on his tongue.

"Yeah!" Alaster gave a friendly shove to his shoulder. "Start slow. Learn what you need to before doing anything too dangerous. Think of it this way: Adults don't teach kids how to make a fire first. No, they teach kids how to kill a fire and then how to prevent them." Alaster smiled softly. "Just... start slow," he repeated.

Leo thought about that—starting slow. Would it really work?

Maybe.

But Leo wasn't going to take the risk.

"I... I don't know," he muttered.

"Okay, whatever you say, Valdez." Alaster stared at him. "Just remember what I said, what I told you. Your ability isn't a curse, it's a gift. You just have to figure out how to use it."

Leo stayed silent.

"Well, I'll see you later, Leo. Promise."

Leo watched as Alaster hopped up from the bed and made his way to the door. "Where are you going?" he blurted, sitting back up.

Alaster turned on his heels at the door, half in and half out. "Wherever my blind eyes take me," he replied, and Leo blinked in surprise. He had no destination? Where did Alaster live, then?

"Your aunt is coming, by the way. Don't listen to anything she says," Alaster said as he stepped through the door. "See ya later. Promise."

And then he was gone.

Leo gawked at the empty doorway for the longest of times before his aunt came in. She screamed and said he was a monster, but Leo tried his hardest to listen to her. Not to take the words to heart.

It didn't really work, but Leo thought that if he hadn't at least attempted he would be worse off.

When his aunt had finally left after her rant, nurses came in to check on him.

No one even noticed the absence of the movie star-like blind boy.

**...**

Over the years, Leo would often sit alone and think about the day when he met the boy he almost killed.

He would wonder why Alaster was sleeping alone by the workshop, why no parent came to check in on him in the hospital. And then Leo would think that maybe Alaster was alone, like him.

After that, Leo's mind would bring up the single name that Alaster had spoken: Valdez. Leo had never said his last name, yet Alaster had known it. It was sort of like how Alaster had known his aunt was coming, and with words that could kill, which would ultimately lead to his painfully lonely life.

Next Leo would stare at his hands and repeat the words "start slow" over and over again. Start slow. He could do that, but he never did, even though he thought Alaster was right and that one day he would need his "ability."

Finally, Leo Valdez would roll that promise in his head. The promise Alaster had made twice. "See ya later. Promise." Those were his last words.

And Leo had no doubt in his mind that Alaster would return. That they would meet again.

So he waited.

**So... Done...**

**Review, guys. Please. Favorites and follows are also appreciated.**

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~Unexplainable Contradiction **


	3. Bow and Arrow

**I DO NOT OWN. **

Bow and Arrow

Frank stood with his grandmother as they waited in line at McDonald's. It was overly crowded; people staring at others, waiting for the moment someone finished eating so they could claim the small table as their own. Frank thought it was funny, actually. Why couldn't people just share tables? Or, better yet, leave the place and eat elsewhere? But, according to his grandmother, people didn't do that; they would much rather act like "animals."

He giggled as a single man, who had waited for so long (meaning three minutes), practically shoved a family of four out of their seats so he could eat. A single man, sitting at a table for four! "Fai," Grandmother scolded; she saw what he was laughing at, and a small smile appeared before she could swipe it away. "What do you want?"

"Ummm… Can I just have a vanilla ice cream, since I already had lunch?" Frank asked his grandmother. "_Please?_"

His grandmother stared down at him for a moment and then sighed, holding out a five dollar bill. "One"—Frank made his eyes go big—"medium vanilla ice cream."

"Would you like anything else?" the cashier asked.

"No, the ice cream is enough." His grandmother grabbed her change and placed it back in her purse, muttering to herself about the fattening foods.

"Okay, a few moments please," the cashier said, obviously ignoring the comments about the place he worked; he might have thought the same. Just has he had stated, a few moments later, Frank's ice cream came. "Here you go. Thank you for coming to McDonald's."

Frank grabbed his ice cream greedily and followed his grandmother to a luckily empty booth. Sitting, he began licking his ice cream like the end of the world was going to happen if he didn't. "Slow down, Fai," his grandmother ordered. "I'm going to get napkins. You're making a mess all over the place."

"Okay," Frank said around his slowly-beginning-to-melt ice cream.

After Grandmother left, someone poked Frank's shoulder. "Hey, can I sit here?"

Frank turned, still licking his ice cream. Standing before him was a boy around his age with inky black hair, wearing a gray beanie, sunglasses, a baggy blood-red T-shirt, worn out jeans with holes ripped in them, and a shiny silver chain wrapped around his hips. Frank stopped eating his ice cream. "My grandmother said people don't ask to share tables, because they're animals."

"Well, kid, I am. So can I sit?" The boy plopped his food on the table, as if he already knew Frank's answer.

Frank furrowed his eye brows and scooted over. "Okay, you can sit. But don't call me a kid! I'm eight-years-old." He huffed and went back to his dripping ice cream.

"And I'm nine, so, I'm gonna call you a kid, just 'cause I wanna." From his bag, the boy pulled out a double cheeseburger and began eating. "What's your name?" he asked around the chunk of food in his mouth.

"I'm not really supposed to talk to strangers…"

"You already are."

Frank thought on that for a while. "My name is Frank Zhang, but my grandmother says Frank isn't a very proper name, so she calls me Fai. What's your name?" Frank began nibbling on the edge of his ice cream cone.

The boy stared at him through his sunglasses, like he was debating on answering. "Alaster."

"What about your last name?" _Crunch_. Frank swallowed more of his cone.

"I didn't ask for yours, did I? I just asked for your name, and you gave me your last name, too." Alaster shoved the last of his burger in his mouth and searched for his fries in his big, white crinkly bag.

Ripping off the paper on his cone, Frank thought on this also. "I guess you're right…" He trailed off when his grandmother sat across from him. "This is my new friend Alaster." He beamed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Alaster held up his hands. "No one said anything 'bout bein' _friends_. Sorry, kid, I just wanted a place to eat." Then he muttered to himself. "And a place to sleep."

"Alaster," Grandmother tried the name on her tongue. "That is an interesting name."

"So is Grandmother, but I wasn't sayin' anything," Alaster snapped, popping a fry in his mouth.

Frank slid into his seat, now finished with his ice cream. He was positive his grandmother was going to snap right back at Alaster. "Where are you from? It sounds like a mixture of two places, the South and New York, possibly?" Grandmother asked. Frank didn't see that coming.

"Born in New York, visited Texas a bit, so, yeah, you're correct. Why're you askin'?" Alaster laced his fingers together, leaning forward.

"This is Canada. Your accent sticks out like a sore thumb." Grandmother was back to her proper ways, her back straight like a pole was tapped to it.

A frown, for the shortest of times, flitted across Alaster's features. Then it was gone, and Alaster had that easy going smile on again. "I'm sorry my accent sticks out like a sore thumb." He glanced around the steadily emptying fast food restaurant. "Well, it was nice talk_ing _to you, but I _have_ to go." He chuckled, tapping his fingers against the table.

"What about your parents?" Frank asked; he could not help but notice how not one single guardian came to watch over Alaster.

Alaster stood, waving his left arm. "Around." Then he was gone, like he had evaporated into thin air.

Like he was never there in the first place.

"Fai," Grandmother snapped after a while, "clean up this mess." She pointed to the sticky white ice cream that had melted on the table.

"Yes, ma'am," Frank mumbled.

**…..**

Frank was back home at his mansion, running around the edges of the wood in his backyard. He didn't care that his knees were getting grass stains or that his elbows were scraped, because all that mattered at that moment was chasing down that bird. It wasn't a big bird, but it wasn't small either; just in between. At least, that's what Frank thought. A red blur streaked in front of him, and he lunged.

"Hey, get back here!" he giggled, diving between two large trees. The bird continued to soar, moving deeper and deeper into the wood. Frank hesitated. He was not supposed to go into the wood, because of bears and other wild animals, but how much could chasing a bird do? Then he saw it again, a blob of red and black flying straight in front of him, as if begging to be chased after again. "Get back here!" he shouted in glee, sprinting after the bird once again, forgetting his previous battle in his mind.

Frank stopped after a few minutes, panting. All around him there were only trees—trees and green. No red in sight. He circled, feeling the fear creep in his stomach, traveling to his heart.

A flash of red.

There, he thought, following the slightly different shade of red. It didn't matter though, did it? The bird would help him make it back home. Frank hopped over small rocks and clambered over fallen branches, always keeping that dark red in sight.

Finally, he saw all of the red, and the entire person who was wearing the red. "Alaster?" Frank asked, his eyes widening.

Alaster whipped around, fingering his shiny metal chain. "Hey, Frank." Alaster acted so casual, Frank almost thought he imaging meeting the boy again in the middle of the woods.

"What are you doing here?" Frank asked, eyeing Alaster carefully. What was Alaster doing?

"I could ask the same thing," Alaster responded, grabbing a thick branch above himself and hauling his full body weight so he could sit up there.

Frank stared in awe then shook his head. He countered, "I asked first." He almost slapped himself on the head for the childish remark—because, for some reason, he wanted to impress Alaster—but ignored it, keeping his ground.

"Ah," Alaster sighed, flopping back so he was hanging by his knees; Frank jumped in shock, "the famous 'I asked first.' Well, kid, I'm goin' camping, I guess you could say." He grinned a crooked grin.

"Alone?" Frank asked, worried.

"Alone," confirmed Alaster, releasing his legs from the tree branch and landing on his hands before standing upright.

"Why?"

Alaster cocked his head to the side, as if thinking, and then the nine-year-old slung an arm over Frank's shoulder. "It's top secret," he whispered, leading Frank in the direction of his home. "And it's super hard. But, you wanna know a way to make it easier?" Frank nodded violently. "A nice place to sleep would be nice. Do you have any place I can sleep for a while?"

"Well, I can ask my mom—"

"No," Alaster interrupted. "It's top secret, 'member? No one can know."

Frank thought for a moment. "The attic," he said, and then it happened.

Alaster had snuck into the Zhang's attic that night.

**…..**

It hadn't even been a full twenty-four hours when Frank saw Alaster again, in his room.

Yeah, Alaster was pretty sneaky, like a spy.

Frank noticed Alaster holding something behind his back. "What's that?" he asked, pointing.

Alaster grinned mischievously, holding out a bow and a set of arrows.

**…..**

Frank began practicing and practicing, since Alaster thought he would be good. "Good upper body strength," he had said, placing the bow in Frank's untrained hands. "You just need some practice and aim. But you got that, right?"

And Frank did indeed have that. The first time he launched an arrow, Frank had managed to make it on the makeshift target the two boys had made together. With Alaster's help, in just a week Frank usually made it on the target nine times out of ten.

Actually, Frank thought it was funny that Alaster was training him, since the poor boy couldn't hold the bow right for the life of him and was blind.

Yep, Frank had learned that his new friend was _blind_.

But, Alaster turned out to know how to teach pretty well for a kid.

_Snip! Plonck! _Frank cheered in sheer joy. "I got a bull's-eye!"

Alaster clapped, smiling slightly—like, a real smile, not one of those cheesy lop-sided ones. "Good job, Frank. Really good."

Frank frowned, noticing his friend's lack of enthusiasm. "What's wrong?"

Alaster raised an eyebrow above the top rim of his sunglasses. He shook his head slowly, pursing his lips. "You just don't need me anymore, kid. And I really should leave soon…" He trailed off, leaving the rest for Frank to figure out.

"What? But—you can't—"

"Sorry, Frank, but I really should get goin'." There was a hug—short, sweet, and simple—and then Alaster was jogging away.

Just like that.

Alaster turned around, and Frank just stared, hoping he was rethinking.

"Hey, kid, get even better at the bow and arrow, for me. And, I promise, we'll meet again, so don't be so depressed."

And he was gone—like that first day.

Like he was never even there in the first place.

**…..**

The next day, Frank found a brand new bow with expensive hand-made arrows on his front porch. His grandmother and mom had been confused, until he told them he was learning how to use them.

Frank never spoke a word about Alaster, though. Not even as he got older, realizing that there was no "secret mission"—just a lonely boy who wanted a warm place to sleep at night.

And even though he was lied to, Frank Zhang continued to learn how to use the bow and arrow, continued to get better and better, until he almost always got a bull's-eye. Every time there was a bull's-eye, Frank would picture that small, _real_ smile Alaster had given as his reward, and Frank's chest would swell.

Alaster, a boy he met in McDonald's, had affected his life in more ways than thought possible.

And Frank Zhang was positive that one day, somehow, he would meet Alaster again.

Just maybe not in an overly crowded McDonald's.

**There is Frank!**

**Review, favorite, follow, and I'll see you guys in two days.**

**(By the way, I'm so sorry for not posting on my other stories; I'm working on it. Life has just been... hectic, to say the least, since school started.) **

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~Unexplainable Contradiction**


	4. Quest

**Here's Jason! **

**I DO NOT OWN.**

Quest

Jason was on an errand for the gods—a simple thing, really, though he knew it could very well be the last thing he ever did; one of the perks of being a demigod—and he was lost. It was a solo act, too, so there was no one to ask directions from, unless Jason walked up to a random mortal, but he didn't think that would go over very well: _Excuse me, sir, do you know where I can find a ginormous spear anywhere? Maybe in the San Francisco area, you say? Okay. _

Yeah, no.

There was rustling in the tree to his right, and Jason was immediately on guard; there is no such thing as too ready for an attack, especially for a demigod like him.

A boy, wearing a somehow _dirty_ black T-shirt and ripped jeans, dropped from the tree. A bulky silver metal chain wrapped around his waist clanked together as he fell, and a gray beanie was stuffed on his head with sunglasses propped up on his nose. Smirking, he gracefully landed on his feet, which had on large black combat boots.

Okay, maybe there is such a thing as too ready.

Jason was silent, gawking at the punk child in front of him, completely thrown off.

"Uh, runaway, too?" the boy coughed out, blush growing on his face.

Startled by any actual emotion from the boy—because the beanie-clad child looked like one of those I-will-punch-your-face-in-if-you-mess-with-me-even -though-I-might-lose kids—Jason shook his head. "No," he stated, voice loud and clear, though his eyes were still slightly wide in surprise; Jason wiped the atrocious expression off of his face a few seconds later.

"Oh, then, don't call the cops on me." The boy made to run off, but Jason caught him by the arm, though the reason as to why was unknown to him.

"No, don't go. What's your name?" News flash for those who don't know Jason: Going out and asking random strangers their name is not a typical thing for him to do, but this boy… something was drawing Jason to him. Something powerful. Magical.

_Demigod, god that might zap him if Jason does the wrong thing, or other mystical being?_ Jason wondered to himself. In any of the situations, not doing the right thing might end up with him dead.

The boy turned, lips pursed, as if in wonder or contemplation. "Alaster," he finally said, sticking out his hand.

"Jason Grace," Jason told Alaster, giving a firm shake to the other.

Then they released, and Jason realized that he must look like a runaway, with him being in the middle of the woods with no supervision whatsoever. But, really, he didn't feel like giving out personal information, and Alaster wasn't giving any, either.

Awkwardness ensued.

"So…" Alaster drawled, and Jason heard an accent—did a Canadian accent exist? "What are ya doin'?"

Okay, maybe not Canadian, but Southern? Jason thought. His mouth opened automatically to answer, "Business."

"Business that I can help with? Because I'm bored."

Jason started at that, because he was on a dangerous mission—even though Alaster didn't know that—and he was just asked if someone could join him. On his solo mission. By a guy he didn't now.

The Fates were up to something, Jason knew.

And he wasn't about to go against what they wanted.

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head. "Actually, you can help me with something."

**…..**

Alaster was really good at surviving in the woods, Jason learned after a couple of days. Apparently, Alaster had spent several years of his life running around North America, but he was originally from California, thus the reason he was here. Jason thought he was lying; in a way, he was lying, too, though, so he let it slide.

"So what are we looking for again?" Alaster asked roughly. Jason had learned other things also, like how Alaster wasn't really all that emotional and touchy-touchy and stuff; he was a guy who was surviving, almost like Jason himself.

Of course, Alaster was a mortal—Jason guessed that much after a while—so he didn't have to worry about monsters trailing him every second he was out of camp.

"My cousin has this artifact that he wants, and he lost it somewhere. I'm—we're—looking for it," Jason replied briskly, pushing aside yet another tree branch.

"Why can't he get it himself? I think that's just plain laziness there, sending a kid off—"

"Shhh…" Jason shushed him, watching the monsters just feet in front of him. Cyclops, at least half a dozen, were crouching around a fire, sticking their hands in every few seconds to warm some metal and whatnot. Jason really didn't care; he was focused on the spear strapped to the back of the largest one, which was stalking around the group like it was playing duck-duck-goose.

Jason began to make battle plans, or an attack plan, more precisely, figuring he was basically going to try to sneak up and get caught anyway.

"Okay," Jason whispered softly into Alaster's ear, pointing at the largest Cyclops. "Do you see that spear on the tall guy's back?" he asked, planning on it being a rhetorical question.

Of course, the Fates had to mess with him.

"Nope," Alaster replied calmly, popping the P. "Don't see what you're talkin' about."

"What do you mean?" Jason gritted out. He had even taken in to consideration the fact that Alaster was a mortal! Mortals can always see something, right?

"Dude, my eyes"—Alaster gestured at his dark sunglasses—"suck at being eyes. They don't work. But, hey, tell me what to do and I'll do my best."

Jason leaned back, dumfounded. It… it almost sounded like Alaster was saying he was blind, but that couldn't be true; Alaster was a survivor, and survivors couldn't be blind because then they wouldn't be survivors. Right?

Alaster lowered his voice, nearly growling into Jason's ear: "I'm not handicapped, ya know. Blind or not, I'm still a person. You allowed me this far, so why stop? Keep going. Don't be a failure, because failures never live, they're eaten by the survivors."

Jason shivered, Lupa's stern face entering his mind. _Keep going_. He could imagine those words in his mind, as if Lupa were telling Jason herself. _Keep going_, she would signal when he was gasping in exhaustion. _There's no reason to stop_.

Jason bobbed his head, biting his lip. "I need you to distract about half a dozen people by this campfire," he began, watching as Alaster nodded his head in understanding. "Do whatever. The biggest guy—he's walking around—has the artifact on his back. I'll get that." Jason was silent, wondering if he was really about to team up with a mortal—a _blind_ one at that.

Yes. Yes, he was.

"Go."

Alaster leapt up, swinging around his chain by his side, creating a _whir_, _whir_, _whir _noise as it whipped around. "Hey, guys," Alaster greeted as he bumped into one. "On a walk, too?" _Whir_, _whir_, _whir_.

"Get away from here," the leader grunted, turning to face the dark figure behind him. Jason took this as his opportunity to sneak around, keeping hidden behind the trees, rocks, and tall grasses.

"Why?" _Whir_, _whir_, _whir_.

"Mortals," the Cyclops muttered, shaking its bulky, empty head in disgust.

"What?" _Whir_, _whir_, _whir_.

"Just leave." The Cyclops shifted its back, reaching for the spear, and Jason slowly crept out of the hidden areas; the other Cyclops were too busy either playing with the fire or watching the spectacle before them to notice.

"Hmmm… Let me think for a moment." _Whir_, _whir_, _whir_. "I'm an _innocent_ little kid"—Alaster emphasized innocent, but Jason had an idea that he wasn't innocent at all—"and you're a thief." _Whir_, _whir_, _whir_, _whir_, _whir_—the chain swung faster. Alaster smirked, something menacing and cocky and just plain goofy all mixed in one twitch of the lips. "How 'bout… no."

And then Alaster did something Jason would never had imagined a mortal ever doing. Something most new demigods didn't even do. Something completely… horrifying, yet amazing.

Alaster brought that chain to the side, wrapping it around both of the Cyclops's meaty legs at once. Swiftly snatching the spear from its back, he yanked the chain, bringing the monster to its butt. Then Alaster wrapped the silver chain around the Cyclops's muscled neck.

All in the span of say… about a second or two.

Jason froze for a moment, stupefied—Alaster tended to do that to him a lot—before jumping into action, stabbing two Cyclops in the back. Another second later and Alaster had two more monster pinned down—Jason had to remind himself that Alaster wasn't going to kill them because he thought they were people—leaving one left. The poor guy—monster, whatever—was the smallest of the group, and his partially melted metal boat was seeping from between its fingers.

It hesitated, roving its large brown eye between the two boys.

And then it launched the fire-hot metal at Jason.

One word: _Ouch!_

The metal grazed the top of Jason's right hand before he could move, and it seared off the top layers of his skin. The Cyclops dashed off, and the duo let it be.

After a few minutes of Jason trying to fight of the pain in silence and Alaster not having any idea what was going on, the latter waved the spear around. "Got it."

**…..**

Jason held the spear gingerly, glancing at Alaster, who was leisurely trailing behind. Since Alaster was a mortal, he couldn't follow much longer, and that meant that Jason had to ditch him.

And for some strange reason, he didn't want to.

Jason didn't think he _could_ ditch Alaster.

Alaster had grown on him—he was a mortal who could actually fight, for the gods' sakes!—and the kid knew how to survive like a demigod. If he knew what they Roman gods were, Jason could have sworn that Alaster _was_ indeed a demigod.

But Alaster didn't know.

Unless he just knew that there were monsters after him but not that there were gods…?

No, Lupa would have found him.

Jason sighed, already knowing what to do, as he turned on his heel to face Alaster.

Except Alaster was already facing him, an aura of… melancholy, possibly... surrounding him. "I have to go," he deadpanned.

"Uh…" Jason lost all of the training on keeping all emotions in check that very moment; he faintly heard them fly out the window, disappearing as the widow was locked shut.

"I have to go," Alaster repeated, his face blank. Stupid perfect poker face.

"Why?" Jason managed to croak out.

"You have a family to get back to, buddy. I don't. Besides, some cops are probably lookin' for me right now. They have before…" Nonchalantly shrugging, Alaster started backing away, waving. "But I promise, Jason, we'll see each other again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Another wave, a smile, a flick of his sunglasses, and he was gone. Just like that.

The last thing Jason had to keep in his memory of him was a reflection of light off of the silver metal chain.

Jason thought their separation—when and if it came to that—would be more dramatic, but it wasn't. Alaster had simply left, as if he were never there in the first place.

It sure seemed like that.

**…..**

Presenting the spear to the praetors to return to Mars made Jason's stomach flip. If he had to be truthful—and if he had to lower his pride—Jason would admit that a mortal had actually gotten the spear from a Cyclops during his quest.

With ease.

But Alaster wasn't here, wasn't at Camp Jupiter. Alaster had left.

Saying anything about him would make Jason Grace seem insane, and that would be very bad.

So Jason kept it to himself—he said nothing as others suddenly noticed his extreme urge to learn how to fight practically blind, said nothing as others asked why he was so persistent on learning how to survive alone in the woods with nothing but a metal chain. He said nothing, mentioned nothing.

And he was okay with that, because one day, someday, Jason would get to see Alaster again.

_Keep going_.

Jason fought harder to get better, because, really, why not?

**Review, please, my dearest readers! Also, favorites and follows would be nice.**

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~Unexplainable Contradiction **


	5. Stop

**Thanks, guys, for all the love 'n' stuff. I really appreciate it.**

**The next chapter is the last one, but for now, here's Piper!**

**I DO NOT OWN.**

Stop

Piper was having an awful day—mainly because it was the first day of fifth grade.

And bullies.

Mainly bullies.

She, for reasons unknown to her, had become the school nerd—even if she wasn't all that smart. In every class, there was a snarky student who would ask where her mom was or if her dad had suddenly up and left too because she was so awful. It didn't make sense to Piper, and she guessed it never would make sense to her.

Seriously, it was the first day of school. Where did this information even come from?

Stumbling over stretched out foot, Piper glared at the snickering classmates. "Don't let her fall," one boy chuckled snidely. "She might steal your stuff on the way down."

Oh. Maybe that's why kids were teasing her; they were testing her, seeing if she was really what people claimed her to be.

Piper shrugged her shoulders and gathered her belongings back securely in her arms, making her way to the back of the room. Sitting down, she noticed the teacher, a young woman with perfectly twirled coco brown hair and caramel-colored eyes that seemed a bit big on her angular face, step in front of her desk. "Now, I know you have been over this in every single period so far, but I have my rules, too. So, shall we begin?"

Piper phased out after that, and only reappeared when the final bell rang.

She was the first one out of the room.

**…..**

Piper was lying down by the towering red maple tree in the front of the school, watching as the clouds floated by, ignoring the taunting calls of a pack of girls nearby, who were calling Piper ugly and such.

She was used to it by now.

It was the beginning of the second month of school, and, somehow, Piper became the most popular girl in school—everyone knew her.

But not in a good way.

Piper was _ugly_ and had _too many zits _and _wore unfashionable_ _clothes_ and _her dad was an alcoholic janitor_ (she really didn't know where this one came from) and _she_ _thought she was all that_ and had _spent the previous year_ _in juvie_ (Piper also didn't know where this one came from) and on and on and on; the rumors wouldn't stop.

But she didn't care. Really, she didn't.

Okay, maybe the bullying was getting to her. Just a bit.

Groaning, she sat up, only to come face to face with a boy—one she had never seen before. "If you have something to say," Piper spat, "say it already."

Slightly pulling down a pair of sunglasses, the boy blinked, before cocking his head to the side. "I have a question, actually."

"What is it then? Because if it's about my dad being an alcoholic, it isn't true." She huffed, standing to her feet and slinging her backpack over her shoulders.

"No, it's not about that." The boy gingerly stood as well, biting his lower lip and swinging a large metal chain at his hip.

"What is it about, then?" Piper barked, getting ready to leave. The girls were coming closer, asking if the boy was her _boyfriend_. "Like that would ever happen," Joanna, the tall, possibly anorexic blonde leader, had stated.

"Why are they bullying you?" The boy blinked, acting so calm, but Piper could tell this wasn't an innocent question. He was truly curious, and Piper felt her gut twist—because she didn't know. Piper didn't know _why_ she was constantly pegged as the loner, the target. She just was.

"You don't know, do you?" the boy asked, and then he shook his head, his shaggy jet-black hair becoming even more wild than before. He turned, facing the nearby crowd, and shouted, "Get a life, ya sickos! Stop wasting your time bothering her!"

"Why?" Joanna asked, twisting the torture devices she calls heels into the dirt. "She doesn't care. Do you, Piper?"

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered, placing a hand over his heart. "I didn't realize."

"What?" Joanne leaned forward, her booty shorts somehow riding up even more. _She's in the fifth grade, for Pete's sake! _Piper thought.

"You must be going through such a hard time, with your dad being an alcoholic and all. I mean, that's where all those stories came from, right? Your own experiences?" The boy, who, Piper realized, was messing around with a gray beanie in his pocket, ducked his head, as if in shame.

"No!" exploded Joanne. "Why would you say such a thing?!"

"You said it about her. Why does saying the same thing about you make any difference? It's not true, so you don't care, right? _Right_?" The boy spat out the last word, like it was a dare, and in a way, it was.

"No," Joanne replied meekly, staring at Piper.

"But why not? Why do you care? Does it bother you?" The boy took a menacing step forward, and Piper realized that o_h my gosh someone is standing up for me_. It hit her in the face, just in that moment. "If Piper can handle it, so can you, right?"

"But—"

"Leave. Just leave." The boy pointed past the maple tree, and Joanne and her posy all shuffled away, glaring daggers; _this isn't the end_, their eyes hissed, burning holes in Piper's ripped jeans and baggy T-shirt.

"What—what was that?" Piper stuttered, plopping back down onto the ground.

"You obviously weren't going to do anything, so I did." The boy stuck out his right hand, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Alaster."

"Piper. Piper McLean."

**…..**

Alaster met up with Piper every day after school, at the towering red maple tree. Somehow, whenever Piper's spirits were down, Alaster always managed to bring them right back up, so much that they were even higher than before. He would smile, and she would smile right back. He would laugh, and she would have to laugh right back.

Piper considered him a friend—basically her only friend in the history of _ever_.

They would talk and talk, laughing every so often; then Alaster would bring up the bullies, and the mood would somber; and then, after a few minutes, the light-hearted laughter would reappear. It was a pattern, every day.

And then Piper had to ask. "Do you even go to this school?" she asked, hoping that today the mood would not drop and tumble over a cliff, or the Grand Canyon, or the Empire State Building.

Alaster bit his lip, shaking his head. "No," he muttered, picking at some grass.

"Then where—?"

"It doesn't matter," he cut her off, standing ad stretching. The shadows of the tree and his own melded together, casting him in darkness; the only visible things was his chain. "It's time for you to go home, anyways."

That was the last part of their time spent together: the walk home. It was always quiet, but strangely comfortable. Piper usually spent this time pondering her friend, wondering who he was. Where he was from. Why he decided to help her that fateful day.

Those few minutes spent deep in her mind, however, were always in vain. _Alaster is Alaster_, her brain would say, and then it would come up with nothing else.

Piper entered her home, watching as the boy with the shiny metal chain continued down the road, into the pitch black of night all alone.

**…..**

It was winter, and yet the two still met up every day after school. (Of course, this was California, where the weather rarely changed from the usual perfect temperature.) They would talk and laugh about her dad and his job, and he would intently listen as she ranted about everything bothering her.

"What about you?" Piper asked one afternoon, the December sun already beginning to set in the west.

"What about me?" retaliated Alaster, but Piper knew what he was doing; he always wanted elaboration, so that maybe Piper would realize it all on her own. Of course, Piper being Piper, really didn't want to do that, especially not on this question. This was a personal question, and she wasn't about to back down from a chance to finally learn something about Alaster.

"What's on your mind? What keeps you up at night thinking, or worrying, laughing?" Piper leaned forward on her backpack, her hands laced beneath her chin.

Alaster slumped back on the gritty bark of the maple tree, his head making a _thunk_ as it hit the tree. Then he leaned forward, a glint on his sunglasses. "Bullies," he whispered, making her lean in.

Bullies. He had bullies, too? Piper couldn't believe it—Alaster, who fought her own, had kids picking on him? Truthfully, she couldn't imagine a giant trying to mess with him, because he may be small, but he also put the word _mighty_ to shame. Alaster was a fighter, a warrior. "Wha— Oh."

Alaster didn't have bullies. She did.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is where the somber mood comes running in, stomping all over the comfortable conversation and laughing cruelly at light-hearted giggles and chuckles.

"Just tell them to stop," he whispered.

Staring at the slightly withered leaves hanging by her face, she replied, "It's not that simple—" she started, but the stare Alaster was sending her shut her up.

"Why not? Just tell them to _stop_." He was deathly calm, as if waiting for it to finally sink in for Piper.

And, oh, did it sink in. She thought of all the stuff she had gotten, by just asking. What if she had told those people to just give it to her? Would they have? Piper thought so, but asking seemed nicer, even if the people always did end up calling the police.

Wait—how would Alaster know about that?

She almost asked—almost—but Alaster wasn't even at the maple tree anymore; he was a bit down the road, waiting for her.

They walked, and Piper spent those few precious moments pondering something besides Alaster.

What _if_ she did just tell them to stop?

**…..**

It was a lot easier than she had anticipated—finding the girls, that is.

Actually, they found her.

The girls, all covered in a hundred pounds of make-up each and wearing clothes that would make most people blush from just looking, sauntered over, plastic smiles on their near-future plastic faces.

Fakes. They were all fakes, and Piper hated fakes. She preferred to stay true to herself, and if that meant getting expelled, so be it.

Piper stood by the towering red maple tree, watching as the pack of wolves stumbled forward in their strange costumes. "Piper," Joanne purred, and Piper shivered at the slightly red tinged eyes; she always thought it was just from poking her eye with that mascara wand or whatever it's called, but, now, as Joanne gave a sharp-toothed smile and waved her pointy nails, it looked sinister.

Biting her lip, Piper went over the words in her head again. Then she crumpled and tossed them out the window, opting to do whatever felt right.

Piper sucked in a deep breath of hair.

Here goes nothing.

**…..**

For a whole month, Piper didn't see Alaster. She still waited every day by the towering red maple tree, but—nothing, not even a sign that he was still around.

One day, she got up to leave and bumped into a body—a boy, more precisely. "Hey, Piper." There was a chuckle, and Piper recognized the hypnotizing swing of ringlets of silver metal before her face.

"Alaster," she breathed, shooting up.

He nodded, smiling easily. "I see you finally got a back-bone and told those girls to back off."

"Yeah. It—it was easy. Easier than I thought."

"Fighting your own battles feels good, huh?"

"Yeah."

His next smile was melancholy, and, for some weird reason, Piper knew what was going to happen deep down in her gut.

And it happened.

Alaster waved, not even giving an explanation, and said, "I promise, we'll see each other again."

And then he walked away.

But not for forever.

**…..**

The next year at the new school, there were bullies, but Piper stood up now; she told them to back off, to stop. Usually, they wouldn't for long.

But Piper way okay with that, because she had new friends, people who accepted her and joked with her and listened to her; Piper could always go visit a towering red maple tree as the crowds surged around her, anyways.

And there, underneath the blinding red, Piper would wait for a boy with a shiny metal chain and a promise.

**Review, favorite, and follow! **

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~Unexplainable Contradiction **


	6. Wait

**Hazel, you are the last chapter. Also the shortest, but mainly the last. **

**I DO NOT OWN. **

Wait

Hazel Levesque was dead, and she had accepted that long ago.

Well, maybe it was long ago. Where she was, time was impossible to manage, so she could have only been sitting beneath the black poplar tree for a mere ten minutes; but she really doubted that.

Hazel sighed, watching all the other souls chitter their unintelligible language, all moaning about a past they couldn't quite remember.

It was more than a bit depressing.

Leaning back—well, as much as a deceased girl can lean back—against the tree, her eye lids fluttering closed for a moment, so that maybe, just maybe, she could imagine herself away from here, Hazel felt a knot form in her wispy gray chest. It was strange—like a yearning sensation, except that Hazel wasn't yearning for anything except to get out of the Underworld. Her ears burned, like when people talked about her. Also, there was this throbbing feeling in her head—can dead thirteen year-olds get migraines?—that felt as if someone were stomping on it with spiked, steel-toed combat boots.

Groaning, Hazel slumped back and clutched her head, hoping the pain would stop.

It didn't.  
**…**

Hazel, though she knew it was strange even in the first place, got used to the pain—the emptiness and burning and throbbing. It was usually weak, with only erratical moments of immense pain, so Hazel could continue on with her daily life—sorry, eternal death.

At the moment, the pain was cranked up to about a thirteen on a scale of one to ten.

It hurt that badly.

She was moaning, like the other spirits or shades or whatever they're called, and ripping at her hair.

What was going on? Normal dead people didn't feel physical pain; it was all emotion, about being depressed and lonely and all.

Of course, Hazel wasn't the typical normal shade. She was a daughter of Pluto, the god of the Underworld. Hazel didn't forget, not like the others, and when she was alive she could summon cursed jewels.

Even in death she was an outcast.

How much does that suck?

The pain subsided, but there was still a burning sensation in her ears.

A lot.

It sucks a lot.

**…..**

Hazel was lounging underneath the poplar tree again when a new feeling erupted in her. It was like someone was walking all over her, except this person wasn't exactly walking, more like floating.

She ignored it and drifted off, mingling with all the other dead spirits, hoping one of them was her mother.

None of them were.

The feeling drifted away.

**…..**

A short while later-or maybe years; again, time is different—Hazel was back by the black poplar tree.

Then the feeling as if someone were hovering over her reappeared.

Some ghosts had chattered about walking sensations before, like when someone walked over their grave, but Hazel didn't think she would have to deal with that because, for one: she had no grave, and two: she had died in the middle of the ocean in Alaska.

Why her?

**…..**

There was a murmuring in her head.

Hazel was back underneath the poplar tree—she should really stop going there, considering most of the weird feelings happened around that tree—her foggy eyes closed, when she first heard it; the voice was muffled, like speaking through water, at first, but it was slowly gaining clarity.

"You might not be able to hear me," a young male voice was saying, "and you're probably wondering how I could possibly talk to you in the first place if you can hear me, but that's beside the point." The boy—Hazel concluded he was a bit younger than her, if she was alive, that is—sighed.

"My name is Alaster, and I was sent here, above your death place, to relay a message." Hazel shivered at that, the oil filling her lungs once again.

"You might have felt some things," the boy continued, "like burning ears, because I was searching for you, but don't worry. It will all be over soon.

"Anyway, the message: Stay where you are, Hazel Levesque. Underneath that poplar tree you think is bad luck. In a few years' time, someone is going to get you, and you'll get your second chance." There was a bit of silence, like Alaster was waiting for the news to sink in for Hazel.

"I don't know much else, but I know this second chance will have many hardships, but you'll learn about yourself and your past."

This wasn't happening. A boy cannot be trying—_actually_—communicating with Hazel by being over her death place. That wasn't possible. Was it?

"Hazel, just—just wait. Trust me on this. Just wait."

The boy knew her name, knew where she was, probably knew how she had died—why should Hazel trust him?

_Because he is promising you a second chance_, a voice whispered in her mind.

"I promise, when you come back to life, we'll get to meet."

Hazel nodded, not quite believing it, but sat back.

Waiting.

**…..**

Hazel thought she had gone insane after a while. Can the dead do that? Go insane?

It probably wasn't very far-fetched for Hazel, but she continued to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

**…..**

Some kids were walking through the Fields of Asphodel—three of them.

One boy, who probably wasn't really a boy, had a big hat on and little shoes with wings on them. The girl was a blonde, with perfect curls cascading down her back; a dagger was held firmly in her hand. The third child, another boy, had messy black hair and green eyes that Hazel could spot even from where she was sitting.

They walked right past Hazel, who was still waiting at her poplar tree.

The first two completely ignored her, but the third turned and faced Hazel. He had this look on his face, like Hazel should know him.

The boy pursed his lips, walking away.

But not before mouthing one word at Hazel.

_Wait. _

Hazel waited.

**…..**

Another boy, a while—or maybe not a while—later stepped up to Hazel waiting at her poplar tree. "You're different," he had said.

And then everything sort of went hazy to Hazel as she was suddenly transported to the world of the living.

This was her second chance.

Nico di Angelo was the boy's name, the one who had taken her out of the Underworld; he was her brother.

Hazel loved him—she really did—but she knew he wasn't the one who had spoken to her. She knew he wasn't Alaster.

Alaster...

He had searched for her, just to relay a message, just to tell her to stay by that poplar tree. He had told her that Hazel would get her second chance.

And then Alaster had promised that they would meet, but they hadn't done that. Not yet. Though she felt she would, and soon.

So Hazel did one of the things she was best at: she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But that was okay. Hazel could wait, even if she now had clocks to count the minutes and calendars to count the days.

Besides, Alaster had promised her a second life; how far-fetched was it for two people out of billions to meet compared to that?

**And this story is now finished. I hope you guys enjoyed it! **

**Review, if you do so please.**

**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~Unexplainable Contradiction **


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